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Life

Rating: 3.8

I leave the office, take the stairs,
in time to mail a letter
before 3 in the afternoon--the last dispatch.
The red, white and blue air mail
falls past the slot for foreign mail
and hits bottom with a sound
that tells me my letter is alone.
They will have to bring in a plane
from a place of coastline and beaches,
from a climate of fresh figs and apricot,

to cradle my one letter. Up in the air
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Kumarmani Mahakul 28 March 2019

No doubt such sincerity will be judged but first investigation brings the truth ahead. From a climate of fresh figs and apricot they will have to bring a plane. This poem is very amazing really.10

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